August 30 - Rainy Afternoon

It’s raining. I can see the rain splashing down my window, forming a curtain of water that blurs the shape of the street outside. The road seems to pour sinuously down the hill, and each of the streetlights casts its own warm halo. The sky outside is an unrelieved gray, lit from behind by the flickering of lightning. Thunder rumbles near continuously. Occasionally, a cold wind batters at my window, shaking the panes and squeezing through every small gap with a high pitched whine. My skin breaks out in bumps wherever the gust touches me, and I shiver until it dies again.

 I see a little boy outside, splashing puddles in oversized yellow gumboots. Before long he is scooped up by a long limbed woman clutching a tiny umbrella in one hand, and is carried cackling home, no doubt to big fluffy towels and hot chocolate in front of the fire. A young woman splashes hurriedly past, soaked to the skin and holding a sad and sodden newspaper ineffectually over her head. I see cars go by as well, but they are not as interesting as the people, safe perhaps for the magnitude of their splashes. But though many pass by my window, they are only of passing interest. One face in particular I watch for, one particular way of walking. I’m waiting for you.

When I first see you I will rush to the bathroom to check my face in the mirror and snag a towel off the shelf. Then I’ll run to the front door and throw it wide, stepping out onto the veranda. I’ll wait until I know you’re looking, and then give the biggest smile I can muster, just for you. When you pass through the gate I will sing to you in greeting, and when you reach my door I will throw both the towel and my arms around you. I’ll take your hand and we’ll shut the door on the rain outside. You’ll sit down at the head of the table and I’ll feed you hot chocolate and biscuits. We’ll talk for ages, about lots of things, and about nothing. After that we’ll put on our aprons and start preparing dinner. You’re good at cutting up things, so I’ll let you do that while I fetch things to and from the fridge and stir all the pots and pans. We make a pretty good team. 

After dinner you’ll have a cup of tea, and I’ll have some warm milk because tea tends to keep me up. Then we’ll probably play a board game, just to pass the time. You’ll probably be the one to start yawning first, but regardless we’ll both floss and brush in front of the bathroom mirror. Sometimes you make me laugh so hard I get toothpaste up my nose. We’ll read for a while, because we always do. Then you’ll tuck the blankets in nice and snug around me, and give me a kiss right between the eyes. You’ll tell me to sleep well, and that you love me a lot, and I’ll tell you that I love you too.

August 29 - A Letter

When I first met you, you took my breath away. I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing. One of the first things I noticed about you was your eyes, so large and bright and of the purest blue I’ve ever seen. You looked at me, and it was as if you looked into my very soul. Then you smiled at me, and I felt as if my heart, pounding away in my chest, would simply burst. I’m surprised you didn’t laugh, because I’m sure I had the stupidest grin on my face. You reached out your hand, and I felt the warmth of your fingers as they grasped mine. I fell in love right then and there.

We spent a lot of time together after that first meeting. I just couldn’t see enough of you. It made my day brighter just seeing your face. I got to know you a lot better, what you liked and didn’t like, what you thought was fun and what put you to sleep. I know I made you fall asleep on more than one occasion. I noticed after a while that you’d started doing things that I did. It was amazing how much we learned from and influenced each other. You taught me patience, and calm, and how to have fun. You showed me how to appreciate the small things. Having you in my life changed it irrevocably.

I was so desperately afraid to lose you. It seemed like anything at all could snatch you away from me, and I knew that if you were gone it would break me. Sometimes I would stay awake all night just worrying about it. Time went on, and you grew out your hair and wore different clothes, and you still stuck around. So after a while I wasn’t quite so scared. Not quite.

Things didn’t always go smoothly between us, and I’ll be the first to admit that. You shouted at me quite a bit, and I’m ashamed to say that I shouted right back. Sometimes you were stubborn beyond all reason, and other times you just plain baffled me. Sometimes it was really hard to understand you, and so a whole day went by with everyone being grumpy. One time you even bit me. Ouch

Still, we always worked it out in the end. I could never stay angry at you for long, and though sometimes I would get fed up with you and need some time on my own, it was never very long before I started missing you. I loved you, and you loved me, and we were inseparable. I was so happy.

Things are a bit different now. You had study, and work, and friends, and everything else that comes with having your own life. You didn’t have much time to spend on me anymore. But I loved you, and you seemed happy, so what could I do but encourage you, even if my heart was slowly breaking. Suddenly you moved away, and despite my best efforts, contact just… stopped. I haven’t heard from you in years.

I hope you’re doing well, and I hope you’re happy, whatever you’re doing now.  I don’t know if you’ll get this, and I don’t know that you’ll read it if you do. But I wanted you to know that even now, anything I can give you I would do so happily, and no matter what happens I will always, always love you.

My darling baby Bella-bear, my one and only doozy of a daughter.

August 28 - Eerie

It’s the sound that wakes me up. A quiet scratching, like when you’ve just cut your fingernails and a stray edge catches and scrapes across cloth. I can’t really tell where it’s coming from, and I don’t really want to move around. It’s cold outside my warm quilts and blankets, and if I move all the cold air will rush in and it’ll take ages to get comfortable as well. I try to ignore the sound and go back to sleep. No luck. I think it’s getting louder, which must mean the thing is getting closer to me. I open my eyes, but of course I can’t see anything. I drew all the curtains before I went to bed. If I want to find this thing, I’ll have to stick my arm out and turn on the lamp. Ugh. No way. I close my eyes again.

The sound is even closer now, scraping around my sheets near my head. There’s something else too, very faint. A sort of hissing, it makes me think of the sound an angry rhinoceros beetle makes. That’s it. I am not having any bugs in my bed. I sit up and flick the light on. Except I don’t. I can’t. My eyes opened when I told them to, but nothing else responded. I can feel everything; my arms, legs, chest and head; but I can’t move. I try to move my arm, nothing. My legs won’t move either. No matter how much I want it to, nothing will move. I try to scream for help, but nothing comes from my lips, not even a whimper. I feel trapped inside my own unmoving body, as if it’s all so much meat. The sound is very close now, somewhere behind my head, and I can’t turn my head at all, can’t move. Then it touches me.

I can feel it on my neck, cold and prickly, like a bouquet of pins. More and more pinpricks appear, as the thing claws its way up onto my skin. My flesh crawls underneath it as it crawls on me. I want to slap it away, to jerk my head, to jump out of bed and run screaming out of bed, but I can’t. I wish my senses were as dead as my body seems to be, at least then I wouldn’t feel this thing clambering up my neck. The scratching sound, obviously its claws on my sheets, is gone and I can hear it hissing at me. Every step it takes irritates my skin and makes it itch, a long line of itches I can’t scratch, all the way up to my ear. Oh god. No. Oh please no. Its foreclaws touch my earlobe.

In my mind I am screaming, jumping, crushing, anything. In reality I lie completely still as this cold spiky thing pulls itself onto my ear, teeters on the edge and then falls into my ear. Its barbed legs flail around as it tries to right itself, its squeals of anger harsh and shrill in my ear. Blazing pain as a forefoot touches my eardrum, building to a wave of white blinding agony as it hooks in and tears it open. The thunder in my ear is gone, but I can hardly think for the pain. I feel nauseous. It’s inside my head. I want to open my eyes. This has to be a dream, it has to be. 

The pain stops. My ear doesn’t hurt any more. In fact I can’t feel it at all. I don’t feel warm, or cold. I don’t feel anything from my body. I can’t smell anything, can’t hear anything at all. I know what’s happening. That thing is in my head, crawling around, tearing and breaking, and I’m damaged. Soon enough it will hit something important and I won’t be able to breathe, or else it will hit something else and I won’t be able to think anymo

August 27 – Signals

My hands lie still on the keys in front of me. I only notice this because, in staring at empty space, my vision of them has doubled. My eyelids feel dry and ponderous, like the pages of an ancient and ridiculously oversized tome. One of those grumpy tomes that always tries to snap shut at entirely the wrong moment, such as when you have your nose buried in it. I rub my eyes, and they even feel papery. I think I have been working too long. Unfortunately, I can’t leave just yet. For my country I must be vigilant, and monitor the various signals sent out by our great nation’s enemies, and even her allies. For the lines between the two are blurred at best. At worst, the line has long ago gotten fed up with being pushed around and walked all over, and has packed its bags and skedaddled for a nice quiet cabin in the woods. I hear a ping from my equipment, so I drag my bookish eyes to the display screen. Encrypted, of course, but sometimes the codes the use are so weak they may as well just be speaking in pig-Latin. Ix-nay on-ay e-thay omb-bay. It’s laughable, really. Laughable, in that when I read them I laugh out loud, which often startles Mandy.

Mandy is the resident linguist, fluent in at least five languages. She sits at the table across from me, and usually has notebooks piled up around her. Sometimes, when she’s concentrating, she doodles daisies in the margins. Sometimes, in our breaks, she’ll teach me words in Russian, or Japanese, or Spanish. She’s very encouraging, even when I get things wrong, and she says I have a good ear for the pronunciation. I think it would make more sense to say I have a good tongue for it, but somehow I never get around to saying it to her. She always smiles when I laugh, even when it startles her. She says it’s nice. I like her smile, it’s big and toothy, and makes her look radiant. Somehow I can never say that to her either. She’s looking at me, with a question on her face. Not literally, of course, because her face is quite well formed and not at all reminiscent of a question mark. I realise that I’ve been staring at her for the past minute, and I think I go very red in the face. I also look away, but that doesn’t seem to make the situation any better. When I look back she’s still smiling.

At half past one we both stand and stretch, in a method quite unlike the way cats do it, and head to the cafeteria. Mandy says it’s my turn to teach her something, so I tell her I’ll teach her a new language. She picks it up very quickly, and we are soon spouting all sorts of nonsense Latin at each other. Her name becomes Andy-May, which could very well be the name of a gentleman, and when I tell her this she says that my name in pig-Latin is Ris-Kay, and is terribly amused. I tell her that if I was truly like my namesake, I would tell her how beautiful she is, especially when she smiles, and I would sweep her off her feet to dinner and dance the night away with her, and henceforth never let her go, because I think there is no-one else I would ever want to see across the table from me, at work or at home or anywhere.

And once I’ve caught my breath, she takes my hand, and asks me what I’m waiting for.

August 26 – Parasite

I’ve got an infection. I don’t know where I picked it up. I wash my hands all the time, and I never leave food out. I don’t eat anywhere unless I’ve seen that the kitchen is clean and well kept, and I keep a bottle of hand sanitiser with me at all times. I avoid sick people on the train, and if someone in the office is sick I have a drawer full of facemasks. If it gets really bad, I work from home. I clean the house thoroughly every week, and bleach everything every fortnight. I alternate between the toilet and the kitchen each day. I make sure to eat well and get the right amount of exercise to keep healthy. I take probiotics, and vitamin C, and other immune strengthening supplements. Yet despite all the care I take to keep my immune system up and running. Something got me.

 I can feel it, it’s growing inside me. Sometimes my skin feels hot and flushed, as if I have a fever, and other times cold and clammy. I feel lethargic nearly all the time, and not a day goes by without a bout of nausea. I can feel it growing inside of me. Not a bacteria, according to the doctor, nor a fungus, nor a virus, not even an amoeba. What I have is a parasite. Something that has invaded my body and attached itself, sucking nutrients from my blood and replacing them with its own wastes. The doctor says that there’s not much to do about it. It can be removed by surgery, but they don’t usually like to do that because it comes out on its own after a while. Such a long time to wait, though.

 It’s gotten bigger, I can feel it. I can see the swelling when I look in the mirror. Even other people have started to notice it, and I can see them looking at me, judging. Some look surprised, others smug, yet others disgusted. They’re not the worst, though. The worst are the ones who seem to take an unholy glee in my suffering, who poke at my inflamed body with crazed grins on their faces. It’s so bad I’m starting to avoid going outside. I can’t run any more, and it’s even getting hard to walk. I can’t stand to wear most of my clothes anyway, as they just irritate my skin. My muscles ache constantly. I’m seriously starting to consider the surgery.

 It’s gotten worse. I can hardly move at all because of how big this thing has gotten. The most horrifying thing, though, is that I can feel it move. I can press down on my skin and feel it squirming around inside me. I have to go to the toilet all the time, and I can hardly eat anything. The doctor says that it’s because the thing growing inside me has gotten so large that it’s pressing on my organs. The doctor says it shouldn’t be long until I can finally get this thing out of my body.

 The doctor says it’s a boy.

August 25 - Patch

The loud hum of conversation fills the room, made up of the many small conversations occurring between those who know each other. Rumours fly hot and fast across the room, all speculating as to the cause of this gathering. A figure steps up to a small podium, and quickly a hush falls upon the assembled masses.

“Welcome all, and thank you for coming. This is a time of troubles, and something occurred today that cannot be ignored. One of our own, unassuming and innocent, has been cruelly struck dead in an act of most heinous villainy. No warning or mercy was given to our poor comrade, who even now lies cold and lifeless in their hands. We must act, before more innocents are hurt. Historically, we are not fighters. I know this. But I also know that this atrocity cannot stand. We must make our own history, and all who are here today will bear witness. We must destroy those who did this to our poor fellow. We must act. They have gone too far this time. 

The cucumbers must die!”

There is silence. The peas titter slightly, and somewhere in the back a stringbean faints. The silence grows, and someone coughs. Maybe a carrot. The lettuces all wilt slightly. No-one is willing to meet each other’s eyes.  Finally, a venerable old pumpkin lumbers up to the stage, gently pushing aside the red-faced capsicum. He whiffled slightly, then spoke in a sonorous voice.

“You all know me. All of you have come to me for advice sometime in your lives. As such, you will all know that I am an old fuddy duddy whose advice is to think things through and try a diplomatic solution. Unfortunately, as I have learned to my sorrow, there is no way to talk with a cucumber. They are large and dangerous, cunning rather than intelligent, and remorseless as a borer grub. So it is that I must reluctantly agree. This is only the start, and if we do nothing who next will fall pretty to the cucumbers? No, I will not let that happen. We must take up our weapons and fight, fight for our very survival. The cucumbers must die.”

A great sigh passes over the gathered vegetables. A radish starts crying softly, and is quickly comforted by the bok choy. The cucumber claps its hands, calling out names and instructions. Before long every vegetable is lined up to receive whatever weapons and armour have been scrounged up from time long past, before filing to their places in the army. The pumpkin looks at them all sadly from beneath bushy brows, then joins the end of one of the lines.

The vegetables line up in the field. The eggplants, solid and strong, take the centre to absorb the main thrust of the cucumber attack. The carrots and capsicums take the flanks, with all the peas and beans in long lines behind them. The leafy vegetables are in the very back, the lettuces and cabbages, the bok choy and the kale, the reserves in case the worst comes to pass. The potatoes and corns range ahead, acting as scouts due to their excellent eyesight and hearing. Some faces hold fear, others boredom, and yet others nothing but grim resolve. There is no turning back now.

A hollow thump rings out across the field. It sounds again, and again, settling into a slow rhythm. A long shadow appears across from the massed vegetables, then another and another. They resolve into the long shapes of cucumbers, covered in warpaint and beating their chests to the time of their march. A carrot cries out in fear, for the lines of cucumber stretch to the horizon, a blanket of green covering the land. The cucumbers stop, their bestial faces contorted in contempt, their army many times the size of the other. Then, with a great roar, they rush forward, and battle is joined.

Morning comes, and the field is strewn with the bodies of the fallen. Some crushed, some torn to pieces, or cut in half. A great shadow falls across the site of the battle.

“Gosh darn, would you look at this. Looks like summat got in the vegetable patch again. I don’t get it. Why would they destroy all of these vegetables, and not eat a single one?”

August 24 - Luck, or Lack Thereof

Annalise was in trouble. Today had not been a good day for her. She’d been woken up an hour early by some idiot mowing the lawn at five-thirty in the morning, and after that nothing had gone right. Her toast had burned, which had set off the fire alarm, giving her a headache and pissing off the entire flat, who had all turned up on her doorstep to complain. Trying to explain the situation and soothe her neighbours had made her miss her normal bus, which meant that she would have to drive so as not to be late to work, and wouldn’t get to talk to Pierre, the florist, on the way. (Though she’d never tell anyone, she had a bit of a crush on Pierre, for his gentle eyes and his unexpected lack of a French accent.) She got stuck in traffic on Sandoval Street, and when she finally arrived had to drive around the block ten times to find a parking space. All this meant that she arrived late anyway, and so perfectly timed it that she ran into the Boss as she rushed through the foyer. (The kind of ‘ran into’ which bowls the other party over and scatters anything they might be holding into the wind. In this case, a rather large and rather hot cup of coffee that got all over his shirt and tie.) She’d gone to Café 89 to get him a replacement, but by that time there was a huge line and a kid ran past on the way to school and left a long smear of peanut-butter on her favourite work skirt. When she got back into the office the Boss was gone anyway, so she’d given the coffee to Cindy forgetting completely that she was lactose intolerant. So now Cindy had to be give the day off work because she certainly couldn’t be productive when she had to run to the bathroom every ten minutes, which means that Annalise had to do her work as well, and on top of all that the Boss called her up for a meeting in the afternoon, and he did not sound happy. So today had not been a good day, and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

Annalise sighed, puffing a lock of hair out of her eyes. Her fingers were cramping from typing, and her headache had settled into a throbbing right behind her eyes. She leaned back in her office chair, listening to it creak. She’d finally gotten all the paperwork done, hers and Cindy’s, and could do today’s field operation, albeit two hours behind schedule, even after skipping lunch. At least today’s assignment was pretty routine, just a reset of the alarms in the Municipal PD and clearing out any drifters that may have accumulated. She stuffed her work ID into a lanyard around her neck, and collected a field box from requisitions, before heading to the ground floor. The PD was only six blocks away, and she figured the walk would clear her head. No such luck. A taxi ran a red light and nearly clipped her as she was crossing the street, she was swooped by two birds and crapped on by a third, and was nearly knocked over by an overenthusiastic mime. 

Her luck didn’t change at the Police Department either. Each alarm went off at least twice whilst she was trying to reset it, which made all the officers grumble, those who didn’t laugh outright. To cap it off, not only had the normal wisps made their home in the lower levels, but four pixies had managed to get stuck in there as well. No matter how much she herded them around or tried to lure them with baby carrots they all kept bumbling around, cackling at her and spreading fairy dust everywhere, which of course she had to vacuum up once she’d finally gotten rid of them. What’s more, whilst she was distracted the wisps managed to charm one of the young officers out onto a fire escape, which of course meant that the fire department had to be called to get him down, and that her post-operational paperwork would double. When she returned to the office, she realised that one of the pixies had made off with her work ID, so she spent a whole hour getting a new one with all new access codes, whilst being lectured by Security. Her desk phone light was blinking, and played a pissy message from a co-worker she was supposed to have had lunch with. She dumped her bags and went to the bathroom sink, splashed water over her face and looked at her own reflection. Her makeup was smudged. Today was a bad day.

“Annalise. Come in. Sit down.” She slumped heavily into the chair across from the Boss, staring at the floor so as not to meet his eyes with their slitted pupils.
“I’ve been receiving reports of your conduct today, Annalise. Reports such as ‘low standards of professionalism’ and ‘endangerment of personnel’. Not to mention your presentation is markedly different from your norm...” As the Boss went on, Annalise slumped lower and lower into her chair. Nothing had gone right today.
“...This kind of behaviour  is, I hope I don’t need to tell you, completely unacceptable. We have a reputation to uphold as supernatural consultants, and having our specialists act in such a manner...”
Why was everything going wrong? Annalise just wanted to go home. Back to bed. She wished she’d never gotten up in the morning. The Boss leaned across the desk towards her.
“However, I think that under the circumstances you did remarkably well, for someone operating under the influence of a poltergeist.” Wait, what? The Boss reached one clawed hand to somewhere behind her left ear and drew back with something silver and squirming.
“Yes, I noticed it this morning when you ran in the office, but unfortunately had a meeting to attend.” Annalise watched as he deposited it in a small jar, and the silver thing bounced around the walls, making a small keening sound. For the briefest instant, a small face materialised. It poked its tongue out at Annalise, and then was gone again.  She just gaped. Was it possible? Could this tiny thing possibly have caused so much to happen to her? The Boss smiled.
“Tricky things, poltergeists. Capable of quite a lot of damage, if they are in the right place at the right time. Quite frankly, I’m glad you caught it. There is of course a significant finder’s fee, there’s a lot of pent up energy in one of these. You’ll find it included in your next paycheck.”

Annalise got home, this time without incident. She ran a bath. After a day like hers, she surely deserved it. But curiosity got the better of her, and she jumped online to check the details of her next payday. Her eyes widened. The bonus was... significant.

Perhaps today was not such a bad day.